


Stand Up, Stand Down

by 1cobaltDream



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1cobaltDream/pseuds/1cobaltDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were no need for heroes; not this time.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Show's Over

**Author's Note:**

> Very first Avengers fic with a dash of X-men. Suffice to say i'm quite excited

/./.

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It was the silence that made him nervous, the stillness of his mind and the anguish that crept closer and closer despite his best efforts to keep it all at bay.

The world, the _new_ world because nothing is the same and never will be, is loud- fast and on the verge of completely destroying itself at the rate it was burning itself out. These years people live their lives in a wild haze of speed- faster cars, faster machines, faster relief, faster release, faster, faster, faster, faster. As if the whole world was too afraid to stop running, too afraid to stop and look at itself and see the truth of how it was slowly dying from the inside out. Steve is motionless, a silent figure that overlooks the city from the highest point, his face twisted in a frown and he cant help but wonder if the world was running  to or away from it's own death.

This new world was so bright, lights of every color lighting up the darkest corner it could find, as if it were afraid of it’s own shadow (but dont you know? You’re only creating more darkness for the demons to hide). There was no need for heroes; no this time.

_You’ve done your job, Solider, show’s over._

Steve clutches his sketch pad closer, glares up at the light that’s too bright and wills it to shut off.

The world is safe, safe to destroy itself however way it likes without a madman and an entire army of things this wold would never understand. There’s a knot in Steve’s stomach, a flurry of emotions that revolts against the notion of allowing the world to slowly deteriorate in the way it was. But Steve, God help him, Steve is bitter in ways that would have his mother, Bless her soul, shaking her head in disappointment and perhaps shame.

_"Stand, Steve. Always stand up."_

But his mother was gone, lost to a world that he would never be able to reach again. And Steve has almost had enough of this too bright, too loud and too fast world. He’s on his knees with almost no intention of getting up again.

 


	2. Not Myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing will go in their respected timelines, there will be things that make no sense time wise and I wont waste time trying to come up with something clever because I am not, in fact, clever.  
> That is all.

* * *

 

"What if I say no?" Steve asks quietly, a silent fury burning in the pits of his stomach and making his breathing a bit erratic.

Natasha is as deadly as she is beautiful, makes him smile on occasions and makes him miserable all in one; makes him realize just how much he misses Peggy that much more. Natasha’s hair is blond today, with rose colored lips and she’s looking at him with blank eyes and Steve wants nothing more than to turn away, to push the file further from him and back into her hands. She holds no pity for him, no mercy and no bullshit either. She pushes the file closer to him, inclines her head and speaks as bluntly as she always had.

"You won’t."

There’s no emotion in her voice, and if Steve were anyone else but himself, he would have believed it. Only, there’s a soft edge to her eyes and a small quirk of her lip and it has Steve a bit breathless, because there is someone here, someone who he’s beginning to see won’t abandon him. But it doesn’t help, because he thought the same thing of his mother, of Bucky and the boys of the Howling Commandos.

Natasha sighs, and loosens her stance but keeping her firm gaze, she reaches out and pushes the phone closer to him and then turns to walk away.

“Call him, Rodgers, none of us will follow anyone else into battle and we need to make sure you’re every bit of yourself as you were before.” With a flick of her wrist the door pushes open and she’s gone, wisps of blond hair disappearing from his view. It was the soft tone hidden in her voice and the memory of his mother slowly picking herself up from the floor with such a determined look on her face that has Steve picking up the phone an hour later, the anger and indignation slowly ebbing away.

The city is still too loud, too fast and too bright, but Steve recognizes the help, passed over to him in the form of white alabaster papers. They crinkle in his hand as the phone rings once, twice before a soft, soothing voice answers his call.

"Hello, Mr. Rodgers."

 

* * *

 

 

"And you are?" The voice was bland with the smallest hint of warning and it has Steve standing taller, jaw setting and eyes sharpening even as a polite smile creeps onto his lips.

"My name is Steve Rodgers,” Steve says politely, keeping his chin high and his smile pleasant, “I have an appointment."

The man’s blue eyes sharpen and his body tenses, as if he were gearing up for a fight; the metal of Steve’s dog tags quiver for a bit before a voice calls out from within.

"Erik, please refrain from starting brawls with my patents," there is the sound of tires on tile and Charles Xavier peers around the small spaces between Erik and the doorway that allows Steve to see twinkling blue eyes and comforting smile. "Hello, Mr. Rodgers." Charles greets, "Forgive Erik here, he hasn’t been home in a while and new people make him nervous."

"Speaking about me as if I were a pet now are we, Charles" Erik grumbles with what Steve can spy, an amused glint in his eyes.

"My friend," Charles chuckles, reaches up through the small spaces and patting the taller man on the shoulder, "please move out of the way, Mr. Rodgers is welcome here, as he always will be."

"He’s not one of us," Erik growls, defiant and poised to attack.

_To defend, not attack_ , Steve thinks with surprise, as if Erik were expecting _him_ to suddenly pick a fight.

"He is welcome, no matter _what_ he is," There’s a hard edge to Charles’ voice now, a warning.

Steve watches as Erik flinches, he throws a murderous look at Steve and then pushes off the door way, and shoving past Steve with clenched teeth.

"You make one wrong move in this house, I will annihilate you." Erik warns; no  _promises_ and with one last jerk with the metal of Steve’s dog tag Erik is gone down the path.

"I do apologize for that," Charles says with a tight smile, "Erik means well."

Steve watches him go, recognizes the haunted eyes and stiff back and refrains from commenting on it.

"They always do."

Charles’ smile blooms brightly in the daylight 

* * *

 

Charles Xavier is all comforting smiles and smooth tones of pale flesh and sharp cheek bones. He reaches out to Steve, pulls him impossibly close, mind to mind but not flesh to flesh. He reaches in, digs where Steve lets him, never ventures too far and Steve can  _feel_ him, gliding through his mind and soothing old and new aches. His voice is a smooth and calming force as he surf’s Steve’s mind, careful and calm, trying to make Steve see that this world is not all that it seems.

When Steve open’s his eyes Charles isn’t in the room anymore and the sun has already set.

He sits up and years of training tell him there’s someone in the room. When he turns to look there’s a woman in the doorway, there’s an odd smile on her lips and Steve flushes a bit because he’d always been a light sleeper and dear lord how long was she there?

"It’s alright," she says, "You’ve almost set the record, longest anyone has been asleep was for three whole days, you’ve been out for two and a half."

Steve closes his eyes, tries not to shove the panic down and away, tries to stop his quivering because two and a half days is nothing to seventy years.

"I’m Raven," She says, "You might want to come down and have something to eat."

He stands on uncertain feet.

"Steve Rodgers."

It’s still a bit strange though, because he still doesn’t feel much like Steve Rodgers at all. 

* * *

Raven is all sharp lines that never stay the same; angles that constantly change and skin that is never the same shade. It’s subtle, and Steve never would have noticed if he hadn’t seen her eyes flash to an amber color when she frowns at his soft inquiry.

"It was an accident," is all she says stiffly, "just an accident."

And Steve is no closer to finding out why Charles is in a wheelchair and why Raven’s skin takes on the smallest tint of blue.

He stays for dinner, smiles a bit fondly at the misfit teenagers fighting over the last piece of chicken and tries not to remember days where Bucky would always put a bit more on Steve’s plate; frowning at Steve’s sharp angles that never grow rounder.

_“I’m not that hungry anyways,” Bucky shrugs when he shovels the last of the food onto Steve’s plate._  

Charles smiles over the rim of his cup at Steve, blue eyes bright and no less gentle, as if he knew of the things Steve was thinking about but chose not to speak of it, and for this Steve is ever greatful.

"Why don’t you spend the night Mr. Rodgers?" Charles speaks, "There is plenty of room."

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Erik scowl, a narrowing of the eyes and the curl of his lips.

Steve smiles stiffly, shakes his head and gathers the dishes as the teenagers scurry out the door, each unwilling to be the last out.

"I won’t want to impose," Steve says eyeing the way the silverware vibrates in his hand; a warning, "I need to get home anyway."

"Nonsense," Charles grins, "You can stay, it’s far too late for you to be traveling."

Steve gives a strained smile, watches as the fork in his hand bends and tries not to envision a death in metal as he gives in to Charles’ request. 

* * *

Steve finds himself losing pathetically at chess and Charles is still all warm smiles and soft chuckles as he sits across from him. There is a gleam in his eye and Steve wonders if he gets a certain glee from pummeling him at this.

"I’m not very good at this," Steve confesses.

"Well," Charles chuckles, "It would probably help if you knew the rules."

Steve remembers Bucky briefly trying to teach him how to play before they were forced to sell Bucky's chess board and pieces for food. 

"Probably," Steve replies, smiling thinly before resuming, "Tony tried teaching me. But his chess set was.." he pauses, tries to find the right words to describe floating chess pieces that destroy each other with tiny repulsor blasts and the strange confetti that bursts from the metal board game when a game is won.

"Speaking of which, it would be in everyone’s best interest if you called your team in the morning to let them know you’re safe and not in the clutches of some evil mastermind who is trying to rip the serum from your veins to cultivate your cells and create a giant army of fugly super soldiers that they’ll have to fight and defeat in order to save the earth once again and find your mangled body in some underground laboratory in a tube."

"…"

"It’s either that or you’re apparently dead in a ditch somewhere. Optimistically you’re saving cats from trees and helping little old ladies across the street in some small town." Charles grins.

Charles moves his rook, “Check.”

Steve blinks and moves a pawn to protect his king, “How-“

"Tony Stark has been looking for you an hour after you left, which was a few days ago. Apparently you left without informing him."

"He has trackers on-"

"Erik destroyed every single piece of micro machinery on your person the moment you even thought of heading into our direction. He’s quite protective of our privacy."

"But Natasha knows-" 

"She is on an assignment somewhere in Europe and neglected to tell the others."

Charles moves another piece.

"I gather she is feeling quite mischievous; while Tony Stark has activated Defcon 2."

He smiles then as Steve is left gawking.

“Checkmate.”


	3. The Little Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you all for the encouragement and I hope you all continue to read the upcoming chapters

/././.

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"-I mean seriously Steve a little fucking note or _something_ would have been fan-fucking-tastic! Instead you fall off the grid, somehow manage to disable  _all_ of my trackers and don’t even call to, I don’t know, _mention_ that ‘Hey! I’m fine guys I’m not off being kidnapped by some fucking lunatic, I’m not in a lab in some undisclosed location getting my cells ripped out of my body so that the super solider serum can be recreated and we won’t have to fight of an entire army of fugly super soldiers, you won’t find my mangled body in some strange tube’!”

Steve winces, “Tony-“

"A LITTLE MESSAGE THAT ‘I’M NOT DEAD IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE DON’T WORRY GUYS’ WOULD HAVE BEEN PERFECT!" Tony roars over the phone.

Charles snorts from his place in the empty kitchen, spreading jam on his toast and stirring his tea.

Immediately after their chess game, despite it being so late Steve had asked to borrow the phone. When the receptionist asked who he was Steve politely gave his name and she sounded flustered and promised to patch him through to Tony’s personal phone right away. It only gave half a ring before Tony’s voice (cold and raspy, as if he were exhausted) answered wanting to know where the fuck he was.

"You were worried?" Steve asks, his face all smiles.

"I had to ship Bruce to a spa after the first day, Barton won’t come down from the roof; Thor won’t stop eating pop tarts and Natasha is missing."

"Thor always eats pop tarts though,” Steve says, “I would have thought you’d hack Shield by now."

"I did after the first few hours but there wasn’t even a trace of you being put on an assignment."

Steve winces at the accusing tone, spies Charles in the corner of his eye and turns the other way, “Natasha is on an assignment.”

"And how the hell do you know that." Tony demands, "What is she  _with_ you? Are you two on some kind of _love_ quest that you couldn’t bother to tell me about so I’m not here losing sleep over trying to track your sorry ass down?”

"You-" Steve sputters, ears burning red, "There is more caffeine than blood in your veins and sometimes you don’t sleep for days on end," Steve attempts to defend.

"That’s when I’m working on something and none of my friends are missing! And you haven’t denied it!"

"Tony." Steve says firmly, "I’m not on a love quest with Natasha. I only know that she’s on an assignment because," he glances at back at Charles for half a second, "she told me she would be. I’m sorry for not telling you I was leaving for a few days but I will be back soon. Please turn off the alarms."

"Give me your location. I’m coming to get you."

"Tony, no, I’m fine. I’ll come home when I’m done."

"No, I’m coming to get you and I will see for myself that you’re fine."

"Tony-"

"I thought you were kidnapped or dead in a ditch, Steve! Give me your fucking location or I will tear this country apart more than I already have to find you!"

Steve finches, breathes deep and tries not to think about caves, arch reactors and scars. Tries not to think about how much fear must have been installed into Tony, no matter how buried deep when it came to kidnappings.

"I’m in London," Steve finally says.

"What the fuck are you doing there?"

"I-I can’t tell you. But I  _will_ come home soon, I promise okay? I’m staying with some people who like their privacy and I don’t want to be the reason for why they wouldn’t feel safe in their own home.”

He listens to the sound of Tony breathing, fast and erratic until it eventually slows to something softer, calmer.

"If you needed space you could have told me," Tony mutters, "I would have left you alone, you didn’t need to run off."

"It’s much more than that," Steve admits, "I’m not right Tony. Haven’t been since I woke up and I’m trying to fix that."

"…Just come back soon."

There is the sound of Charles moving and Steve watches as he smiles, “You can give him our address; I’m not worried about him telling others. He won’t. If he wishes to send a gift to ease his mind he is more than welcome, so long as he doesn’t give up our location to the government.”

"But shield-"

"Knows of our existence but won’t bother us or give us up. We are buried quite deeply. Only Fury and Miss Widow know."

"Who the hell is that Steve?" Tony’s voice crackles over the line.

"No one, here, Tony I’ll give you the address to where I’m staying but you have to promise to keep away."

"Can I send something?" the hopeful tone in his voice is quite heartwarming, "Not like I want to shower you with gifts or anything girly like that but I just-"

"It’s fine Tony."

"Tell him shipping himself over is not advisable. Erik won’t appreciate it." Charles laughs.

/./.

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In the end Steve hangs up with Tony after another half hour of reassurances and promises to look after themselves. He tries not to dwell on the memories of a frantic Bucky whenever Steve would wander off by himself when they’d visit Cony Island.

_"Nearly gave me a damn heart attack!"_

He shakes his head and gives Charles a passing smile, “Sorry about that. Tony is…eccentric; can’t handle him sometimes.” He tries not to think about all the times he has to leave the room because at times, Tony Stark moves far too fast, shines too bright and is far too loud.

Charles nods, “Shall we go off to bed then?”

"Not together I hope." came a low drawl from the doorway. Steve flushes up to his ears and Erik is a dark shadow against the door frame, all sharp jagged lines and narrowed eyes. Charles rolls his eyes and Steve doesn’t react when the telepath’s wheelchair suddenly begins to move on it’s own, further and further away until the metal it’s pressed against Erik’s side, his hand upon Charles’ shoulder.

"Honestly, Erik." Charles grumbles.

"Alex will show you to your room." Erik calls over his shoulder as he puts his hands on the handlebars of the wheelchair, moving him out of the room.

“Have wonderful night, Mr. Rodgers,” Charles calls out as Erik moves him further and further down the hall until they turn a corner and disappear from his sight.

"Goodnight." Steve mumbles into the empty room.

/././.

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In the end Steve stays for a few more days, waking up at what the kids mumble ‘at the ass crack of dawn’ and goes for a run around the entire estate right along the inside of the gates. Charles is a comforting presence, every day in they meet and Steve allows him to prod his mind; allows him in and fights his instinct to keep himself guarded.

_Stand down solider._

More often than not Erik is always a dark presence in the corner of the room; the silent protector that watches but never engages; until Charles asks for something and Erik basically falls over himself (in his own way) to do his bidding.

Steve still doesn’t know the whole story and whenever he asks the responses are all the same.

"It was an accident. Charles has forgiven him, but Erik won’t forgive himself."

Steve decides to stop asking.

_A solider should never ask and a solider doesn’t have to tell._

Three days pass and Steve receives his first gift from Tony

/././.

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Steve is getting better; or at least that’s what they tell him. He hasn’t stepped foot off the grounds since he got here and it’s just too easy to listen to the sounds of the kids and have his memories creep up on him. Sometimes when he’s facing the stove (its old fashioned the teenagers would say) Steve would hum the same song his mother used to sing once upon a time, and he’d reach over for a spoon. “Charlie,” he warns “please don’t stick your fingers in that, getting the food wasn’t easy and I don’t want Mrs. Trebble to take away your supper.”

Silence would reign and when he’d look up he’d blink in confusion. Charlie would melt into Alex and the orphan children waiting with half-starved bellies would be replaced by older and much healthier teenagers.

They don’t say anything; even if they want to. Raven would smack Alex’s hand with a spoon and noise would erupt and they don’t say a word of Steve choices to leave the room.

/./.

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 On a Wednesday evening after his session with Charles Steve gets informed that Tony had sent him a present.

"It’s in your room," Erik says.

Steve’s steps are calm and nearly silent when he makes his way to his room; squints at the bright lights that line the hallways and smiles politely at anyone who he passes before slipping into his borrowed room. It’s simple with white curtains, a comfy looking bed with dark blue sheets and a small writing desk with a lamp. He doesn’t bother with the lights in the room, instead he turns on the small desk lamp and his lips quirk up with a smile. On the desk is a blank sketch pad and with further investigation Steve finds that in the first drawer is a whole array of pencils.

For a moment Steve does nothing but  _breathe_ because Bucky’s memory is still fresh in his mind even if to the world has had seventy years to move on.

_Shifty shoulders and flushed cheeks, a new pack of pencils and sketch pads clutched in his hands and Bucky is pushing them into Steve’s arms._

_"I’ll get you into that art school, Steve," Bucky promises, "This is nothin, a small present, for you to practice."_

_An embarrassed smile “You’re gonna blow ‘em all away.”_

Steve clenches his eyes shut, tries to keep the memories at bay and he doesn’t notice how hard he’s gripping a lone pencil until it breaks, crumbling and slipping through his fingers.

He gasps, opens his eyes wide and makes an effort to calm his breathing.

_"Breathe, Steve," Bucky demands, "Breathe, you gotta breathe."_

_His lungs are screaming and his throat is closing in on itself and he’s gasping, choking in his effort to breathe but it’s like there is no air in the room and darkness is descending upon him and he just might die here in Bucky’s arms, weak and fragile._

_"Breathe, Steve," Bucky whispers with tears in his eyes, "Just gotta calm down, I’m right here."_

_A warm hand upon his chest._

_"I’m here."_

 

/./.

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**Author's Note:**

> More to come soon, Steve may seem very ooc but there's a reason for that.


End file.
